


Lot 45

by Justalostflutterby



Category: Cobra Starship, The Academy Is...
Genre: Almost Here, BDSM, Classifieds, Dystopian, Emotional Manipulation, Futuristic, M/M, Slaves, Torture, William Beckett - Freeform, gabilliam - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-01
Updated: 2015-08-10
Packaged: 2018-04-02 09:45:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4055419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Justalostflutterby/pseuds/Justalostflutterby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>William Beckett is up for sale. Set in a dystopian future where men are sold as slaves to others. William just so happens to get sold to one of the most richest men of all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PeachyYoonmin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeachyYoonmin/gifts).



Chapter 1: 40 Steps  
William - 

Total silence. I shuffled my way around the back rooms as I prepared myself. I needed to look as perfect as possible. That way they would buy me – I needed to be bought. The amount of times I had been laughed at, taunted at, teased at. I just wanted to be taken away from this place. I wanted an escape out of this dormitory of hell.

I prepped myself in front of the mirror, combing through my shoulder length mousy brown hair. Curly in places, parted down the middle. I brushed my face over with a powder-covered brush, making my skin look as precious as it could. Finding my bronzing brush I made my cheekbones stand out more so and bit my lip. I adjusted my long sleeved red tight t-shirt and adjusted my tight jeans that were riding up around my sharp hipbones.

Upon hearing the bell ring loudly in my ears from above I take a deep breath. I commanded my legs to lurch forwards and condemn themselves to walk directly towards the huge double doors.

“William Beckett,” I spoke quietly to the woman at the counter like I had done each time I was up for auction. I shuffled forwards again and got in the line of men who waited for the women to take them home for their little petty playdates. But that was better than here. At least there you would get played with. At least there you would get attention. At least you would be away from here.

I stare down to the ground and shut my eyes, listening in on the other bids. This way I would know how much money each buyer had.

“$50…$100…$250…SOLD at $250,” I heard the auctioneer shout over the loud uproar of women who lost out on their man. I sighed to myself and shook my head dismissively.  
“Attention bidders, it’s lot 44 now,” the woman called out and I felt the man be taken forwards and directly into the spotlight. I watched as he made his way up the steps to the podium. 

“Starting price is $30,” the auctioneer called out, waiting for responses, “sold at $30?” he asked and slammed the hammer down. Oh fuck. No one was going to buy me now! No one had any money! Did they put me at the back on purpose? Did they not want me bought? 

“Attention, attention,” she called out and someone dragged my skinny wrist forwards and forwards into the harsh lights. I had felt these lights numerous times but never had they ever been this heated. “We have an interesting buyer here today for lot 45,” she went on, “starting price of $100.” I raised a brow slightly and lifted my head up. 

Women were allowed to put bids on us beforehand after they saw our profiles. But never had the pricings ever been higher than $70 at the most. 

“$120!” I heard someone call out angrily.

“150!” a different voice shouted intensely, making my heart quicken harder, hammering harshly against my chest. I felt my legs start to weak and I clutched a hand against my chest, wishing to be taken off the podium already that felt like it was 40 steps high. My giraffe legs couldn’t stop shaking beneath me, trying hard to support me the best they could. As I waited for the bell to ring again I heard the numbers keep rising.

A new voice sounded and shouted out, “1,000,” very clearly and absolutely that no one else even breathed for a few seconds. “Make that “3,000 actually,” they went on. The auctioneer waited a few seconds to wait for other to make any bids and slammed down the hammer. I coughed roughly as I was dragged down from the podium and down a dimly lit corridor. 

“You will leave the institution now and be taken to your new owner,” the guard informed me, shoving me into the car that would take me to my new ‘home’. I instantly glanced around the car, noting how there was alcohol on hand and glasses of the top brands, leather seats and luxurious leg room.

The car lurched forwards and I took deep breaths, trying to look out the windows, realising they were tainted black and wouldn’t allow me to see anything other than my own face. My face was pulling this expression of surprise and worry, something that was expected, but it made me look disappointed that I was leaving. I was exhilarated. But are you? Do you really want to leave? 

I brushed my hands over my now slightly matted hair with sweat and wished that I could just see my new owner already. I never knew what happened past this point. I heard stories where men would throw themselves out the cars, not wanting to leave with whoever was captivating them. But this was my only hope. I’d rather be tortured with whips and chains than stay in a hell with no attention whatsoever. 

“We have arrived,” I heard the driver speak clearly and the door opened smoothly. Forcing my legs to move out, I scanned the area, looking for any evidence as to where I was. Nothing was familiar. 

I was led by a small man wearing a black cap with a black, sleek tux. I didn’t know that men were still allowed jobs. I thought they were all like me – like slaves. We were only allowed to be used by women for their own pleasure, for their many desires, for unspeakable things. 

“You may enter the masters’ study,” the butler spoke to me gently, gesturing towards the grand door to his right. Eyeing it up before I entered, I took deep breaths once again before I turned the doorknob and waltzed in carefully. I shut the door behind me before looking around for my new master. I had been taught to be completely submissive – to not speak back, to do exactly as they say. Whatever they wanted, I would give with no complaint. Even if it killed or injured me, I was to demand the pain.

“You must be Mr. Beckett,” I faintly caught the hint of a males’ tone and raised a brow high, scanning the room for them. He walked down from the stairs to my right, wearing a white button down with a black tie, accompanied with black sleek trousers. “And you’re just as glorious as your profile was. I understand your first name is William?”

I nod quickly as my eyes follow him, wanting to understand this man more. “You must be wondering why I am not a woman,” he smirked and walked closer to me, “but you need not worry about that for now. We do however need to sort out your clothing,” he paused. “We took great care in finding out your measurements and buying you many clothes,” he explained and pulled out a clothes railing filled with clothes all of my size. 

I never knew these rich folk were so eccentric. 

“You’re allowed to try on any garments you wish,” he whispered and took a step closer, his warm deep brown milky eyes meeting mine, “but, there’s a catch,” he muttered teasingly, “you must do it in front of me,” he went on. 

I looked him over, wanting to know the consequence, “or you get no clothes for the next few days,” he mumbled. I bit my lip, knowing I wasn’t allowed to respond.  
“I know you’re not meant to reply to my comments but,” he waited, looking me over longingly. “I feel like I can make an exception,” he whispered.


	2. Stranger In A Strange Land

Chapter 2: Stranger In A Strange Land  
William:

It hurt. My hands hurt. My hands felt as if they weighed over fifteen tonnes as I felt over the clothes, feeling over each individual stitch. Headaches don’t normally come on this quickly, do they? My fingertips screamed at me to quickly find a garment, knowing that he wanted me to get undressed quickly. My hands found their way to the lowest hem of my shirt, pulling it off over my head, tossing it down to the ground a few feet away. 

I would never be this messy but it seemed that he wasn’t all that bothered. He hoisted himself up onto the maroon coloured desk before me and let his eyes scan over me, drawing me in. I wasn’t sure if I felt nervous by his observations or pleased to know that he was pleased with me, pleased that I was exactly as he wanted, pleased to know that he made the right choice. 

I was glad that he made the right choice too. I needed to prove myself to him now, right? I needed to prove how worthy I was. 

I found a black button down shirt and slid it off the hanger, sliding that on over my slinky arms. The shirt felt luscious against my skin, it made my body look longer, accentuating how non-curvy I was. Was that what he wanted? 

Did he want to see me in an imperfect light? 

I unzipped and unbuttoned my flared faded blue jeans and dumped them on the floor beside my other shirt, finding a tight pair of black jeans. After eyeing up his outfit I discovered how he liked the tight-clothing, so this would be a perfect match for him. I ushered myself to speed up and discovered how badly my hands were shaking from the tension that I was clearly feeling. 

We were never allowed to talk back at the institution but whenever we did it was about what happened whenever we left. Therefore this was definitely something I was prepared for. This act of submission was something I had weeks of lessons over. I’ve been taught how to act, to always do as they say, but I always thought I wouldn’t be bought – I thought I’d have died in that place. Not in a rich mansion owned by a man who only wanted to watch from afar. 

Did it have something to do with how tempting he looked sat upon that desk? Because my Lord did he look like a picture sat like that. If I liked painting I would paint him, if I liked drawing I would sketch, if I was allowed to touch him I would touch. 

My tongue yearned for the taste of water and some form of succulent liquid that would suffice my thirst. He observed me doing this and leaned over on his desk, finding an empty wine glass and topping it up with red wine. He hopped off the desk and shuffled his slender body over to me, offering me the glass. I took it from him after I slid on the new jeans, instantly enjoying the fit of them. 

As I raised the glass to my lips I felt his hands fumble down to my jeans, buttoning them up for me, tugging my shirt over the button. My cheeks blushed an instant red, making him plaster a comical smirk on his face.

“You’re so questionable,” he whispered against my ear, letting his lips brush against my hair. He shuffled backwards onto his desk and changed the smirk into a genuine smile. “You may leave, Pete will be waiting for you outside. He’ll take you to your room where you are to wait until dinner in one hour,” he explained briefly. My head nodded briskly and I offered him the half empty glass back, making him shake his head and gesture to the door.

“It’s yours to cherish,” he told me and I nodded complacently, turning to the door and looking the handle over before it opened slowly, Pete, I assumed, stood there on the other side. He glanced up at me, his short height meaning he had to look upwards.

“We’ll make you a hair appointment for tomorrow morning,” he muttered quietly, walking down the hall with me, showing me the way to my room. “You’re room is quite a way from the masters’ study for obvious reasons.” I didn’t ask about the reasons why the distance would be far and just kept walking onwards.

“This is your room,” he told me, opening the door to a decently sized room, a single bed up against the wall, books surrounding the bookcase. “They said you liked reading,” he shrugged and gestured to a sleek black leather bound journal on the side of the bed.

“The bathroom is across the hall, if you need anything don’t ask the master for anything. I’ll be down in the kitchen after hours, if I’m not there then I’ll be roaming the house somewhere,” he smiled. “You just need to come find me,” he explained, looking down. “Good luck sleeping tonight, dinner is in an hour,” he added before turning again and leaving the room.

Deep breaths, deep breaths, deep breaths. Don’t panic.

Panicking will only make it worse.

In seconds I was at the window, looking for an escape, noticing the black bars on the inside and outside of the glass. My eyes focused closer on the ground and saw men pacing back and forth, assault rifles across their chests, their bulletproof vests protecting them from distinct harm. My lips became dry and I took a sip out the wine glass, “this place is strange,” I found myself mumbling to no one.

Soon enough the night sky creeped me out so I pulled the curtains together, blocking out the guards. Who were they protecting; me, my master - or were they keeping us all prisoners here? I tried to empty my thoughts of any negativity and tried to read the titles of the books on the bookcase. Pete was right – I did like reading, but I was never allowed to read back at the institution, so this was like a drug to me. I quickly grabbed the first one that caught my eye, titled Invisible Monsters and started to read the blurb, knowing that someone had been reading this book. Some of the corners had been turned over and I raised the pages up to my nose, taking in the warmth of the words.

I started to wonder if they were trying to fill my head up with knowledge before they would shove a spike down my throat and out my backside before they eat me. Maybe that would make them more knowledgeable. Maybe it would make them feel less guilty. They would eat the guilt away, not let the guilt eat them until extinction.


End file.
